‘And who might you be, my handsome stranger? Not a regular patient, I wouldn’t forget a face like yours, though come to think of it…’ She frowned as if she were trying to place him.
Khattak produced his ID. ‘I’m not a patient. I’m here to see Ruksh Khattak.’
The receptionist clicked her tongue, her eyes refusing to stray from his face. ‘That would be Doctor Khattak, you mean. Do you have an appointment?’
Khattak leaned his elbows on the glass counter. He placed his ID on her desk. She immediately lowered her voice.
‘Police? And you’re here, why? Is it about them?’ She tipped her head at the group of boys who were building a structure with their blocks. A frosty note tinged her voice. ‘They’re good boys, they’re no trouble. Neither are the parents. I’ll not have anyone say otherwise.’
Khattak took an immediate liking to her. Her streak of protectiveness would benefit the newcomers. So many doors had closed on them. In his father’s clinic, one had opened.
‘My name is Esa Khattak. I’d like to see my sister, if she’s not busy with a patient.’
The woman sat back in surprise. This time she clicked her tongue at herself.
‘You’re alike as two peas in a pod, I don’t know why I didn’t see it. Though I must say neither one of you resembles the little one.’
‘Do you mean Misbah? Is she here, too?’
The receptionist introduced herself as Holliday Baines. ‘A ridiculous name, I know, the good Lord bless my parents, but they always said that having me in their lives – I was a late arrival, you know – was something akin to a miracle, and so why shouldn’t they celebrate it like a holiday… though Heaven knows a late baby is no picnic, but there you are, and here I am.’ She paused before launching herself into an answer to his question. ‘Missy’s in here all the time, babysitting, cleaning up, talking to the mothers; she’s very good with the mothers, especially the ones who don’t speak English.’ She broke off this flow to glance at Khattak’s ID. ‘My dear Inspector Khattak, here I am rattling on when you’ve come to see the doctor. I’ll ring her to let her know you’re here. She’s catching up on her paperwork.’
She returned his ID and Khattak thanked her. ‘That won’t be necessary, I’ll surprise her.’
‘Then I’ll just bring you both some tea, shall I? It’s right through there.’
Khattak gave her one of his slow, warm smiles. ‘Thank you, I know the way.’
Her ringing ‘gracious me’ caused the boys to look up from their game.
Esa watched Ruksh from the doorway of their father’s office, the knot of pain in his throat making it hard for him to speak. Ruksh was seated at their father’s old desk, adding patients to the clinic’s database. She was wearing her lab coat over a blue dress, her hair loose and her face bare of makeup.
She hadn’t changed anything in the single office their mother had left untenanted, except for adding a vase of blue dahlias and bringing in a chair. Their father’s leather chair had been pushed to one corner; it waited there, expectant.
Esa blinked the moisture from his eyes. He wished he’d known the office had been reopened. He wished he’d had a chance to come here again and sit quietly among his father’s things before the office reacquired its air of purpose. There was a carom board in the corner; he’d spent many an afternoon playing the game with his father. The shelves were full of medical books, a crystal sculpture of a pair of devoted swans, his father’s medical degrees framed on the wall, and below these accomplishments, Esa’s.
On one corner of the desk, in the same spot they had sat for years, a collection of letters was drawn up in a bundle: blue and red aerograms bound with a ribbon. It was a set of old correspondence between Esa’s father and his grandfather. As a boy, Esa had wanted to know what the letters contained: his father’s mood was always brighter after receiving a letter from Peshawar. But his father had held them close.
He’d smiled at Esa and said, ‘This is between a father and his son. One day they’ll pass to you, but not now.’
After his father’s death, Esa’s mother had asked if he wanted to read the letters. He’d asked that they be left where they were until the day he was ready.
Seven years had passed, yet Esa wasn’t ready.
Memories crowded his mind – he didn’t want anything to change them.
Many times, his mother had urged him to read the letters, just as she urged him to remarry and to start a family of his own.
‘You should have children, these letters will be their legacy.’
Esa didn’t contradict his mother, no matter his own thoughts. He’d learned his code of behavior from the father he’d idolized as a child. He treated his mother the way she had always been treated: with great respect and love. They were partners in their grief; she had lost her husband, he had lost his wife. But beyond thought of her own desolation, she’d devoted herself to helping her son overcome his burden of grief.
It was Ruksh who defied her at every turn, Ruksh who caused her worry.
But if Ruksh was running a clinic at their father’s office, his mother must have been consulted. She’d be relieved that Ruksh had seemed to find a purpose. It would take Ruksh out of her bitterness, or so Esa now hoped.
He cleared his throat. Ruksh looked up, a lock of dark hair falling against her throat.
He waited for her response. She was surprised, he could see, but not immediately hostile. Her pale green eyes narrowed, a look he was familiar with, as so many of his sister’s expressions chanced to mirror his own.
She watched him for a moment and then she sighed, waving her hand at the empty chair. When she offered him her salaam, Esa scooped her up from her chair and hugged her.
‘I’ve missed you, Ruksh.’
She hugged him back for the briefest instant. ‘Yes, well. This isn’t the family visit on Survivor.’ She smiled her sharp-edged smile. ‘I wasn’t exiled to a desert island.’
Esa held on to her. She hadn’t spoken to him in months. He hadn’t seen her or heard her voice or received so much as a text. If she was thawing, he wasn’t letting go. He’d been without the friendship of his closest friend for two years – he wouldn’t relinquish his sister.
‘You exiled me,’ he pointed out. ‘Something I didn’t want.’ Holliday Baines knocked at the door, bearing a tea tray. Esa took it from her with thanks.
She winked at Esa as she closed the door.
‘I should be courteous, I suppose.’ Ruksh passed Esa a mug of tea. ‘What brings you to Dad’s office? Did Mum tell you I was here?’
Esa sipped his tea. Ruksh set hers on the desk, blanking out the screen behind her.
‘Ami didn’t tell me,’ Esa answered, using his name for their mother. ‘I learned of the clinic from Linh Pham. She suggested you might be able to help me. But I would have come to see you in any case.’
‘Why?’
Ruksh leaned back in her chair, fingering a locket at her neck. It was an oval-shaped locket set with small diamonds that Esa had given her as a graduation gift. His mouth quirked up at the corner: if Ruksh was still wearing it, things between them weren’t as bad as he’d feared.
‘What kind of a question is that? You’re my sister, why else?’ Ruksh was shaking her head; the warmth she’d shown him had cooled.
‘That means it’s about a case.’ She swiveled her chair, turning her back to him. ‘I think you know I prefer not to be involved in your cases.’
‘Ruksh,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t you know Audrey is missing?’
Ruksh swung back to face him. ‘What are you talking about? Audrey is fine. She’s on Lesvos, there’s no need for you or Nate to be so intrusive. So she doesn’t call him for a day.’
‘It’s been two weeks, Ruksh. The circumstances of her disappearance are troubling.’
He looked at Ruksh with the assessing eye of a po
lice officer. ‘Are you saying you didn’t know this?’
Ruksh gripped the arms of her chair. Her delicate features hardened, a familiar dislike in her eyes. ‘You haven’t seen me in months, and the first thing you do is accuse me of lying?’
‘I’m simply asking you a question.’
‘None of your questions are simple. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. The last time you entangled yourself in my life, it ended in disaster.’
‘Not for you.’
Esa couldn’t stop himself from saying this. Ruksh knew exactly how to hurt him; he didn’t see how she’d earned his restraint.
‘What does that mean?’ she demanded.
He didn’t back down. ‘Your life was saved, Rachel’s was at risk. In fact, Rachel was at risk from the moment she met you. In the months you’ve spent blaming me, tell me you’ve thought of that. Tell me you’ve considered what I faced. I killed a man for you. I’ve never killed before, I never want to do it again. And what about the rest, Ruksh? The Drayton inquiry, the press. I was suspended, demoted, not knowing if I had a job –’
Ruksh leapt to her feet, jostling her cup of tea. ‘That job is all you care about – I’m just another obstacle in your way.’
She cast around the office for something to vent her anger on. Her gaze fell on the letters. Esa quickly whisked them out of reach. She snatched a photograph instead, and smashed it down on the desk. It was their father’s favorite photograph, the one he’d kept beside him in a painted Kashmiri frame, a photograph of his children holding on to each other and laughing.
Ruksh looked at the shattered frame in horror. She cleared out the glass with care, raising her eyes to her brother, something forlorn in her look.
‘Esa –’
‘How could you do that, Ruksh?’ The pain in his voice brought her to her senses.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I never meant to –’
‘You do a lot of things you don’t mean to.’
She sat down again, a feverish flush on her cheeks. She avoided looking at him, until he said, ‘It’s not me you haven’t made peace with. You haven’t come to terms with yourself.’
He weighed the letters in his hand. ‘Is that why you started the clinic? You’d done something terrible, so you wanted to make amends?’
Ruksh’s face went white. Esa had never spoken to her like this; she’d been protected from the consequences of her actions. This calling to account was long delayed.
‘You accuse me of acting as a police officer, instead of as your brother. This time, I’m afraid it’s true. I can’t let you obstruct my investigation – it would jeopardize Audrey’s safety. The fact that you’d do so just to prove something to me – I expect better from you, Ruksh.’
Ruksh swallowed. She didn’t answer. He took that as permission to proceed, outlining the facts of Audrey’s disappearance.
‘Did you know she was carrying a gun?’
‘No.’ Her reply was stunned. ‘Audrey never mentioned it.’
‘But you were in frequent correspondence, which is what I would expect. When was the last time you heard from her?’
Ruksh straightened her shoulders. She had gathered her composure, and he knew that she would overcompensate, to seem as reasonable as possible.
‘She sent me an e-mail two weeks ago. I assumed there were communication issues. We didn’t talk much by phone, but we e-mailed each other often.’
‘What were the e-mails about?’
‘They were follow-ups. She was checking on the status of arrivals – cases she’d supervised from the islands.’
‘“Arrivals” meaning refugees from Syria?’
‘Yes. She wanted to make sure new arrivals were seen by a doctor. Some of these children haven’t had medical or dental care in years.’
She was hoping to soften him by expressing her compassion. He had no intention of making it so easy. He pressed ahead.
‘Did she mention any of the applicants by name? Did she ask for your help with a boy named Sami al-Nuri?’
Ruksh looked relieved. Because she’d found something she could help him with? Or because these weren’t the questions she’d expected him to ask?
‘I think I remember that name – but from some time ago; several months ago, it would have been. She might have asked me to find out about his family here, whether they were willing to sponsor him, I think it was something like that.’
A consistent line of inquiry from Audrey, the one he would follow up next.
‘Did you do as she asked?’
Ruksh frowned, a delicate pleating of the skin between a pair of eyebrows shaped like wings. ‘I didn’t. She wrote me again, almost at once, to tell me to leave it alone. She didn’t explain why, and I never thought to ask.’
‘What about the name Aude Bertin? Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ Ruksh said in a whisper. ‘Audrey didn’t say she was in trouble. The one thing she talked about that she seemed to find upsetting –’ A trace of uneasiness entered her voice.
‘Go on.’
Ruksh took an audible breath. ‘She was worried about money. She spent it like water, but she said it was never enough. And she said that Nate had put his foot down – he refused to release more funds. She sounded a little desperate so I sent her a bit of my own money –’
Esa cut her off. ‘Did she say why she needed the money?’ He suspected she would confirm what Rachel had already told him. Audrey Clare had needed a boat.
Ruksh had forgotten her tea, her gaze dwelling on the shattered Kashmiri frame.
‘The money was for plane tickets.’
Her answer was unexpected. ‘For herself?’
‘I can’t say. And not because I’m trying to obstruct you – Audrey didn’t tell me.’ What was left of her poise deserted her. ‘You don’t believe she’s guilty of these murders, do you? You know Audrey’s not capable of that.’
Esa didn’t answer. He made her no assurances, because he had none.
‘At the moment, I’m concerned she’s missing. I’d rather it was because she’s chosen to disappear than because she’s come to some harm.’
‘Do you think that’s p-possible?’
She said the last word with the hint of a stutter, a nervous habit that resurfaced now and again. He didn’t reassure her. She had told him she didn’t want to be misled, so he’d take her at her word. He was treating her like an adult. He hoped it would make a difference.
‘It’s possible, though it’s not the only scenario. You’ll need to show me your e-mails. There are things you might have forgotten.’
He got to his feet, expecting her to comply.
For a moment, Ruksh looked torn. Then common sense overruled her desire to prove herself above her brother’s influence. As he’d said, he wasn’t acting as her brother. He was speaking as a police officer.
‘I’ll do anything I can to help, but you must know my e-mails are private. There’s no reason for you to read them.’
‘Then they’ll be subpoenaed. I’ll have them by the end of the day. And Ruksh – if you try to delete them, I’ll consider that obstruction. And we’ll retrieve them regardless.’
She put a hand on his arm, entreating him, shocked at the side of himself he was showing her. ‘Esa, it’s not that. I don’t want you to read them. Could Rachel look at them instead?’
It was Esa’s turn to hesitate. There might come a moment when he’d have no choice but to read her e-mails for himself – yet he hadn’t intended to cause irreparable damage to his relationship with his sister. He gave her a quick nod, though he clarified, ‘For now.’
‘Thank you.’ She wrote down the information he’d need to access her e-mails and placed it in the pocket of his jacket.
Silence fell between them. Esa’s gaze moved beyond Ruksh to the shattered frame on the desk. ‘You’l
l get that fixed, I trust.’
Ruksh shook her head helplessly. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me do it. I just – haven’t been myself.’
At last, Esa relented. He gathered his sister close. ‘The past can’t hold you back forever. You’re worth so much more than that. Especially to me.’
Tears formed in Ruksh’s eyes. She hugged Esa back, clinging to him like a child. ‘How do I stop blaming you? Or myself, for that matter?’
Esa tugged at a lock of her hair. ‘If that’s a serious question, I have a couple of suggestions.’
Ruksh reached for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘It is.’
‘Keep doing what you’re doing. The more you think of the needs of others, the more you’ll be able to recalibrate the way you look at things. As for blaming me…’ He gave a rueful shake of his head.
‘Try reading the press coverage of what happened in Algonquin. And maybe find out what I was doing in Iran. If that doesn’t bring you out of this, I can’t say I know what will.’
He kissed the top of Ruksh’s head. Then he took the letters and left.
8
Toronto, Canada
Rachel had ordered a hearty lunch of Adana kebabs with all the trimmings. The lamb was served on a round of bread topped with tomatoes, sweet peppers, and onions. A meek bowl of salad and a cup of soup were poised beside this culinary splendor.
Khattak hung up his coat and sat down. Fascinated by the flavoring of her carrot-ginger soup, Rachel’s sympathy was minimal.
‘So? Was it World War Three? Or has the enemy decided to surrender?’
Khattak grinned. He couldn’t help himself. Rachel had a way of deflating the most serious subjects that no one he worked with could equal.
He took a bite of his food.
The café was new. It hadn’t been around in his father’s day. It was on the fashionable side, with its exposed brick walls and rustic chalkboards – he wouldn’t have identified anything about the Istanbul Café as Turkish, except for the line of copper cezves perched upon a sill. The little engraved pots with their long brass handles were used for making Turkish coffee, and a delicious earth-baked aroma wafted through the café.
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